


alive with the same blood in our veins

by yuchi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuchi/pseuds/yuchi
Summary: Of all the secrets Mark thought his long-term boyfriend could be keeping from him, the last thing he expected was for Yukhei to be a vampire.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 192





	alive with the same blood in our veins

**Author's Note:**

> tw: blood
> 
> the title is from true blue by mark ronson and angel olsen! besides being a weirdly apt lyric, the song is just soooo romantic and really captures what i think both mark and yukhei feel for each other.

Yukhei hasn't been answering his calls for a day and a half.

Mark scowls at his phone, the dimly lit picture of the two of them in a club that he's set as Yukhei's contact picture taunting him. Wong Yukhei, unavailable. It's unheard of. Sure, his boyfriend could be busy—doctors in public hospitals aren't exactly known for having humane work hours, something Mark has griped endlessly to Yukhei about—but Yukhei's always made sure to answer with a text, even if it's hours late.

But there's no text, and Mark's called the hospital, too, and all the answer he got was that Yukhei took a week of leave. When he had asked why, the receptionist had expressed her surprise, assuming that Mark would know. Of course he should—he's Yukhei's emergency contact, after all. Next of kin and all that. The problem is that he _doesn't_ , and Yukhei's not answering his fucking calls, and he can't really afford to have a panic attack in the middle of his publisher's parking lot—

As if to pull him out of his trance, the phone in his hand rings shrilly, his and Yukhei's faces lighting up the screen. It's almost embarrassing how fast he makes a grab for the phone and swipes the little green button to answer the call.

"Yukhei?" Mark asks nervously. "Are you there?"

"Mark," Yukhei answers, and Mark slumps against his car seat in relief. His voice is a bit cracked, dry in places, sounding like he just woke up. "Yeah, it's me."

"You haven't answered my calls." Mark bites at his lip. "I was worried sick."

"Sorry about that, baby. I am sick, but it's just a fever. Nothing to worry about."

"Should I come over?" Mark suggests. 

"No, no." Yukhei sounds set. "There's no need. I'm fine, don't you worry your pretty little head."

"If you say so," Mark said doubtfully. "You don't need anything? Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay." Mark loosens his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the rigidness leave his body at Yukhei's reassurance. "Get well soon, Yukhei. I miss you a lot."

Mark can almost see the smile stretching across Yukhei's face. "I will. I miss you too." Yukhei sighs dreamily against the receiver. "Good night, Mark. Stay safe on your way home."

"Good night, yeah," he answers, a smile of his own taking form. "Take care."

The disconnect tone rattles through the car, and Mark sighs, placing his phone face down onto the passenger seat. Pensively, he drums his fingertips onto the steering wheel, staring at the fluorescent numbers on the dashboard. Yukhei had sounded... off, and not just because of sleep. 

He'd like to think he knows his boyfriend enough to detect whether he's lying or not—and it's a terrible conclusion to come to, but he can't shake the feeling that Yukhei is hiding something. The way he barred Mark from coming over was incredibly out of character; the other always jumped at the rare chance to meet him when they could, given their hectic schedules. 

Mark shakes his head as though it'll clear his mind of doubt. Maybe Yukhei just didn't want him to catch whatever he had and Mark is overthinking, as usual. He's a writer. It's in his nature to overthink everything. 

Sighing to himself, he revs up the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

It was love at first sight, Yukhei had always claimed, and Mark had always rebutted. They met at a mutual friend’s wedding—the most cliche of cliches—and hit it off ever since. Mark was fresh out of a breakup, Yukhei was new to the city, and it all just clicked. Yukhei was tall, charming, handsome—exactly Mark’s type.

Him, though? Mark never really knew what the appeal was to Yukhei. After all, he had the proverbial pick of the litter; Mark is sure that there is no shortage of people who are falling at the feet of a successful surgeon. 

But here he is: the chosen one. A struggling author whose only publication to his name is a collection of poems with a middling sales performance. It's been years, and he's never understood why _him_ —had stopped trying to understand, because Yukhei had never given him a reason to doubt himself when it comes to them. 

Except it's been three days since their last call, and Mark might actually die of stress. Yukhei's best friend, a nurse that works at the same hospital, had been weirdly evasive when Mark had caved and called him. Yukhei is definitely keeping something from him if Kunhang is in on it, too.

He doesn't want to play the part of obsessive significant other, but if Yukhei really is sick like he said, Mark should at least be there for him. Which is why on Saturday evening, he stops by Yukhei's favorite dimsum place and grabs a bag of takeout, securing it in the passenger seat of his car.

Yukhei lives in the busiest part of the city, the district where everything is; his apartment building is a tower that rises above all the other skyscrapers on the block, and the drive there isn’t easy on such a busy night. 

Mark is irrationally nervous, even when he passes by the security guard that knows him, even as he presses the elevator button that will take him to the beautiful penthouse suite Yukhei owns. Mark never got used to being there, always felt like he didn't belong with all the opulent, vintage furniture and centuries old art pieces that Yukhei had managed to collect over the years. 

His feelings remain the same when he steps into the apartment, having entered the code into the keypad on the door. Bypassing the living room altogether, he flicks the lights on in the hallway, illuminating the dark paneled walls. Gingerly, he sets his take out boxes on the marble kitchen counter, peering around the corner to see if Yukhei had heard him come in—but there's no answering noise. Strange. Yukhei had a strange ability to know if Mark was coming over unannounced, always greeting him with a wide smile as he comes through the doorway.

There’s no Yukhei in the bedroom, either, but the place definitely looks lived in. The sheets are a mess, and clothes are strewn all over the floor. There's a strange metallic smell, and Mark takes the initiative to pull aside the curtains, make the bed, and open the windows, letting the room breathe.

He circles the whole apartment, but still no sign of Yukhei. “Maybe he’s feeling well enough to be out?” Mark wonders aloud, dialing Yukhei’s phone again. There’s a small twinge of irritation when Yukhei doesn’t answer, the number of missed calls ticking up from twenty-two to twenty-three.

He retreats back to the kitchen, where the dimsum has definitely cooled down by now. He can only hope Yukhei has been feeding himself during all this; for someone so large, he always forgets to eat, a habit that Mark has tried to break countless times. Trudging towards the refrigerator to check, he pries the door open: empty, except for a lone apple sitting on one of the racks. Frowning, he crouches down and opens the freezer door, pausing at what he sees.

Deep in Yukhei's freezer, shoved to the back almost as an afterthought, are about ten bags of frozen blood. Mark's hands shake as he takes one of the bags out. It's half full, and curiously enough, there are dried smears around the surface of it, as though it was used for _something_ but stored, back into the fridge.

Mark's own blood runs cold. Just what exactly is Yukhei hiding?

The pinging of the electric keypad cuts through the silence of the apartment, signaling Yukhei's arrival. Mark stands, guilty as sin, clutching the bag to his chest as he waits for Yukhei to reach the kitchen.

Yukhei himself doesn’t at all look surprised, instead approaching Mark like he’s some sort of skittish animal; he might as well be, the way he’s rooted to his spot. “Mark, I can explain," he starts lowly.

Explain? The incredulity of it all spurs him into motion—Mark gathers all the courage in his body and thrusts the bag towards Yukhei. "Can you?" Mark answers, voice trembling. "Can you explain this?"

Yukhei's shoulders sag, an odd world-weariness coming over him. It’s more frightening than anything else Mark has seen tonight. "Yes, I can. If you'll listen."

Yukhei steps closer to him, but he backs towards the fridge. Hurt flashes across Yukhei's eyes, and regret washes over Mark for half a second; but he steels himself and sets the blood bag down on the counter. "Explain yourself, then," he demands as forcefully as he can.

"I'm a vampire," Yukhei says simply. As though it were fact. As though it were completely reasonable to believe.

Mark finds himself letting out a scoff. "A _vampire_ ," he rebuts. The derision in his voice is unfamiliar, a tone he’s never used on anyone, much less Yukhei.

"Yes. A vampire," Yukhei continues. "I drink blood to stay alive."

" _Drink blood_ —were you really even _sick?_ " Mark accuses. 

"I was sick because I was feeding on old blood," Yukhei explains. It seems like he’s aged within these few minutes, eyes tired, falling to the floor. Mark doesn’t know where he gets the gall to lie this boldly. “Preserved blood. We aren’t meant to drink anything that’s not… fresh.”

“Alright, Yukhei, joke's over.” Mark shakes his head. “This isn’t funny at all.”

Yukhei frowns. “I'm serious.” 

“Well, I am too!” Mark explodes. “How am I just supposed to believe that—that—you're a vampire?”

Yukhei sighs, resigned. “Look, Mark. You can believe me or not. I'm telling the truth.”

“ _How_ do you expect me to believe you?” Mark demands. “Who do you take me for?”

Yukhei doesn't answer, and that’s enough for him. Mark snatches his keys up from the counter, brushing past Yukhei who doesn't even try to stop him—and that fucking stings, the fact that he won't even ask for Mark to stay so he can keep up a stupid fucking lie. He yanks the door open as forcefully as he can, heart racing—the quicker he can get out of here, the better. 

Still he finds himself pausing in the doorway, feels Yukhei’s eyes on him. He can’t just—he can’t just _not_ give Yukhei another chance. "Contact me when you're done lying," he says, and it’s a plea more than it’s a threat.

Mark waits for Yukhei to speak, move, _anything_ —but nothing. His hands are trembling again once he steps out of the apartment, almost unable to shut the door behind him.

The sound is final, and Mark tries to tell himself that this is the end.

* * *

The first thing he does when he reaches his own apartment is open his liquor cabinet. It’s a habit he’d successfully kicked, but one that he finds himself coming back to occasionally, hands reaching for a bottle opener as though he’d never stopped. It’s warranted tonight, he thinks, popping the cork right off a bottle and chugging it straight from the lip.

He doesn’t even know what he’s drinking. Bleary-eyed, he turns the bottle over in his hands—a Château Lafite that Yukhei gifted him for their anniversary. Disgusted, he takes another long gulp.

One good thing about being a lightweight: it takes very little alcohol to fuck you up. And that’s exactly what Mark is trying to do tonight, chugging down his stupidly expensive bottle of wine that’s probably meant to be savored in a proper glass. But Mark can’t bring himself to _care_ , because the person in that apartment—that wasn’t Yukhei. Yukhei wouldn’t lie to him so blatantly. Or, if what he was saying was _really_ true, lie to him for so long.

Yukhei, sweet Yukhei who pets every dog he comes across, who rings Mark up around 3 am to make sure he’s sleeping and not working, who listens to his long-winded rambles about what book he’s reading. Yukhei, inhuman.

He wants so badly to believe that Yukhei is lying. More than that, he wants to believe he’s willing to let Yukhei go—for which reason, he’s not sure, but that’s what a sane person is supposed to do, right? Lying about being a vampire or not, the logical course of action is to break up, clean and simple.

It’s anything but. He himself has no other explanation for the bags of frozen blood in the refrigerator. For how Yukhei had been putting off moving in together. For how Yukhei refuses to go to the beach, or never owned a piece of silver jewelry. Mark hates that the truth is dawning on him, that the puzzle pieces are coming together even when his brain is addled with alcohol.

So he pops open a bottle of something clear and drinks until he can’t think, until the world is so blurry that he can’t tell what’s right side up or real.

He’s in a state when he blacks out on the couch, still in his going-out clothes and stretched uncomfortably over the upholstery. But, well—mission accomplished, and he’s too sloshed to think about Yukhei or vampires or cold dimsum.

He’s awoken by a shrill ringtone around noon, harsh rays of sunlight filtering through his window blinds. Groggily, he feels around in his jacket for his phone, swiping to accept the call. “Hello?” he croaks out, wincing as he smells his rancid breath.

“Mark?” the person on the other end responds.

Kunhang's voice is sobering, enough to make him sit up with his back against the couch. Groaning, he massages his temples—the beginnings of a hangover. “Kunhang,” he answers, trying his best to sound put-together. What is it?”

“Yukhei called me last night.” Of course it’s Yukhei. It always is. “He sounded distraught, couldn’t even get around to telling me anything except that it was about you.” 

Mark doesn’t trust himself enough to answer that.

Kunhang sighs. "Look, Mark, I don't know what's happened between you and Yukhei, but he's still sick and he's not getting any better." He’s pleading now, Mark notes with no small amount of guilt. "Can you come and see him?"

"I already did,” Mark responds as impassively as he can. “Didn't go very well."

A sharp inhale. “Oh... you found out?”

Mark frowns, staring at the contact picture he has of Kunhang as though it were the person himself. “You knew?”

"Yeah." Of course Kunhang knew, Mark thinks bitterly. He works at the fucking blood bank. "Yukhei told me not to tell you."

"Obviously," Mark retorts. He bites his lip in an attempt to rein himself in. "I'm sorry. I just... I still can't believe it. I don't think I can."

“Believe _me_ , then,” Kunhang says earnestly. “I've been with Yukhei from the start. I’m the one that brings him the blood that he needs—I promise you, he's not lying. And I have no reason to lie to you, either.”

“So he really is…” Mark swallows. “A _vampire…_?”

“For lack of a better word, yes.”

“Jesus.” Mark scrubs a hand over his face, inhaling deeply. “God, I don’t want to believe it, but...”

“I know it’s hard to. But I've seen it with my own eyes. He's not a monster, Mark.”

He shakes his head even though Kunhang can’t see. “I never thought that.”

“Good, I…” Kunhang sighs again. Mark can imagine it vividly—the way he tilts his head upward when he’s trying to piece his words together. “I've known Yukhei longer than you have. I know that he puts on a brave face in front of you, but someone who’s lived as long as Yukhei has... he's seen a lot. Met a lot of people, had to leave them or have them leave him when they grew old or found out.” Another telling stretch of silence. “It's your choice if you accept it or not, but…”

Mark hears the question Kunhang isn't asking. "I’m not leaving him."

"I think you need to tell him that, not me."

“I know, I know,” Mark breathes, screwing his eyes shut. The hangover is in full force now, headache pounding insistently at his temples. “I will, but—I need time. To digest all of this.”

“I understand. I just wanted to let you know,” Kunhang says softly. “I just… I see how happy you make each other.”

It’s downright ugly the way Mark’s stomach twists. “Thank you, Kunhang,” he answers as sincerely as he can muster. “I hear you. I'll call him soon.”

“Okay, Mark. Thank you for listening.” Another moment of hesitation. “I'll text you later.”

The disconnect tone further intensifies his headache, and he quits the call immediately, tossing his phone into the far corner of the couch. Hunched over, he scrubs at his eyes until he sees stars. 

Fuck. His mouth is dry, and he needs an Advil or two. Sighing, he heaves himself off the couch for a glass of water, trying his best to forget the understanding in Kunhang's voice. 

* * *

True to Mark's wishes, it's radio silence on Yukhei's end. No texts, calls, voice messages, nothing for a whole week. It’s the longest they’ve gone without any contact. 

Mark can't help his bitterness, even though he's the one who told Yukhei not to call. Even worse is how much it hurts—because that's what people in stories do, right? Chase after the person they love? To think that Yukhei might have given up so easily on him, on _them,_ is just a little bit unbearable.

But there's the matter of what Kunhang said, about people leaving Yukhei. How he had gotten used to it over the years. And Mark—he hasn't proven himself to be any different from them. Is Mark one of those people, too? One of the many faces Yukhei has met in his lifetime—transient, just waiting to be forgotten? Does he want to be?

That week is the slowest of his life, cooped up in his home office with an increasing number of coffee mugs and a book that, much to his frustration, isn't writing itself. He promised Kunhang that he would call, but he can’t muster up the courage. Mark Lee, who makes a living from weaving words together, speechless. 

It's strange to be devoid of Yukhei like this, who's been such a fixture in his life for the past few years that Mark has come to expect his presence. Maybe a presence that he took for granted. Yukhei had always seemed inevitable—the end all, be all, his happy ending that he never questioned. True, that happy ending had never considered the fact that Yukhei would be a vampire—but really, how much is there to change? He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with Yukhei. Why should things be any different with this revelation? 

And when he thinks for the hundredth time that week of how intricately they've woven themselves into each other's lives, all the promises they've made, the future they've planned together—how could Mark ever think to let go?

He finds himself making the drive to Yukhei’s apartment again. The security guard greets him, and for once, he doesn't mind the opulence of the building, how much he doesn’t belong there. It's all secondary; only one thing matters, and it's the reason why his heart is beating so fast, why he bothers with having a heart in the first place.

This time, he rings the doorbell—something he hasn’t done in years—and steels himself for what's to come.

It takes some time for Yukhei to open the door, and when he does, his eyes widen in surprise. His skin has taken on a sickly pallor, and his cheeks are hollow, dark circles under his eyes. 

“You’re back,” are Yukhei's first words.

Mark swallows, nods. “You weren’t lying.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

"Can I come in?"

Shrugging, Yukhei opens the door wider, ushering him in with a tilt of his head. Mark watches as he closes the door behind him, movements sluggish and lethargic—so far from the lively Yukhei that he knows.

Yukhei walks over to him and they just—stand there, drinking the sight of the other in. This Yukhei is pallid, Mark notes sadly, in a way he’s never seen before. Even more than that, exhausted. He wonders what Yukhei sees.

"Kunhang told me everything.” 

"He did?" Yukhei says, alarmed once again.

"Yes, he…" Mark casts his eyes down, ashamed at the words he hurled at Yukhei the last time they met. "I understand now. I'm sorry for what I said." 

“Don't be.” Yukhei’s voice is firm, as though he’s already made up his mind. “How could you have known that I wasn't lying?” 

How could Yukhei forgive him so easily? Mark looks up, straight into Yukhei’s eyes. “But it still hurt, didn't it?” he argues. “Regardless of what I knew, I said terrible things. I'm sorry for that.”

Yukhei can only nod, and they break gazes once again. He moves over to the windows, and it's then that Mark notices the living room is only lit by a single lamp resting on the mantel of the fireplace. The city lights frame Yukhei's face in a way that makes the hollowness of his cheeks even more prominent, the line of his jaw even sharper. Mark always thought that Yukhei had an ethereal beauty, even in his worst moments—right now, this has to be the worst moment of all, and yet. Ethereal is the way to describe it, because he's not really human, is he?

“Kunhang said… you got used to it,” Mark ventures, carefully watching for Yukhei's reaction. “People leaving.”

“I have,” Yukhei agrees easily. "I had to—there's no choice in the matter." 

There’s something to be said for how Yukhei wears tragedy like a crown. "Do people always leave you?" he asks, voice quiet. "When—when they find out?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a rueful smile spread across Yukhei's face. "Very few of them stay."

Mark swallows. "Do you want me to leave?"

This finally makes Yukhei face him again, but his posture slack. The fight stripped out of him. "I won't stop you if you want to." And Mark can tell that he means it. Yukhei fully expects him to leave, to abandon him like everyone else has.

There's still a lot for them to discover about one another, Mark realizes. "I don't want to leave."

"You don't?"

"How could I?"

Yukhei scoffs, turning away from him once more in dismissal. "I don't want your pity, Mark."

It's a strange kind of heartbreak, this—realizing how little your loved one thinks of you. 

"Yukhei..." he makes his way over to where Yukhei is standing, taking the other's hands in his. "I'm not staying because I pity you. I'm staying because I love you."

Yukhei slowly lifts his head, irises flashing a dark red. It's both terrifying and mesmerizing. "You... still love me? Despite all this?"

"Of course I do," Mark answers softly. He cups Yukhei's face with a hand, brushing his thumb over a high cheekbone. "I'm surprised, of course... But I understand why you wanted to hide it from me. It must have been hard for you all these years."

Yukhei shakes his head, squeezing Mark's hand tight. "It was wrong of me. When I found myself falling in love with you, I thought—I'd rather lie to you than live a life without you." He kisses the palm of Mark's hand. "That was selfish and unfair. I'm sorry.”

Mark pulls Yukhei close until their foreheads touch. "It doesn't matter to me what you are," he whispers. "Now I know the truth. You're still the same Yukhei I fell in love with, right?"

Yukhei's hand comes up to hold Mark's in place, warmth spreading from his palms. "I hope I still am," he answers, breathless.

Mark chuckles. "Then I'm not going anywhere, okay?" he promises. He leans forward to leave a soft kiss on Yukhei's lips, and the elder reciprocates, a little melancholy. A little desperate.

They're both smiling when they pull away. "Do you have any other secrets I should know about?" Mark questions with a tilt of his head.

"I hate Pulp Fiction," Yukhei confesses. "I never told you because you look so happy when we watch it together."

It feels like it’s been forever since Mark laughed. "Oh, now _that_ is unforgivable," he chastises, pulling Yukhei down for another kiss. Mark holds him close, burying his face in Yukhei's shirt. "I'll make you watch it over and over again until you're sick of me."

"Never," is Yukhei's soft answer. 

They stay like there for a while, a pretty picture against the city skyline. He knew he missed Yukhei, but not to this degree. He never thought he would be taking in every note of Yukhei's expensive perfume, every line and curve of Yukhei's body that fits against his—but he had very nearly lost everything because of his own foolishness, and so he can't be blamed for wanting to commit every little detail that he missed to memory. Mark allows himself to breathe; with both their anxieties put to rest, there's nothing else left but to bask in the presence of the other. Well, except—

"You're still sick, Yukhei," he murmurs against Yukhei's chest.

"I've been through worse spells." Yukhei kisses his temple. "I'll be fine."

Mark pulls away, grasping Yukhei's forearms. "You said you haven't drunk fresh blood in a while," he begins, trying to keep his voice steady. It's a thought that he's been entertaining, but saying it aloud is more daunting than he realized. "Would you like to feed from me?"

Yukhei's eyes widen and he shakes his head vehemently, gripping Mark's hands in his. "It's too risky. I haven't fed directly from a human in so long, I could take too much from you and..."

"I trust you." He does.

"Mark..."

He cradles Yukhei's face in his hands, smiling his best. "I want you to recover, Yukhei. I want to help."

Yukhei sighs; his fangs are already extending at the invitation, unable to deny his thirst. Mark watches in fascination as they press against Yukhei's bottom lip. "I... okay. Only if you’re sure.”

"I am."

Yukhei nods, the movement stiff as though he's trying to restrain himself. His irises are fully red, now, pupils blown wide with the promise of blood. 

Mark seats himself on the couch, holding out his left wrist for inspection. Yukhei settles on the floor, delicately turning his hand upward, hungrily eyeing his pulse. Mark cards his free hand through Yukhei's hair, and he looks up, startled from his trance. Their eyes meet, scarlet and brown; Mark smiles at him reassuringly, and Yukhei locks their fingers together. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Yukhei lifts his arm, eyes trained on his wrist, and sinks his fangs into Mark's flesh. 

Immediately, he hisses in pain, but Yukhei pays no heed; the pain subsides the longer Yukhei drinks, but it's a strange sensation nonetheless, being fed from. His limbs are tingling, and his whole body is thrumming with energy, more aware of its existence now than ever—he can also feel that energy growing fainter and fainter.

Spots dance across the edges of his vision. "Yukhei..." he gasps weakly.

Yukhei tears himself away from Mark's wrist at the sight of his pale face. He presses a kiss to the two circular punctures that mark his skin and they heal, flesh closing in on them as though they were never there. "Mark, God, I'm so sorry," Yukhei pleads, wiping away the blood smeared around his mouth with the back of his hand. He scoops Mark up in his arms; Mark himself barely registers the movement, only knowing of his whereabouts when he’s deposited into the familiar softness of Yukhei’s bed.

All the while, Yukhei is murmuring repeated apologies in between soft forehead kisses, brushing Mark’s hair away from his forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to drink so much, I—"

"It's alright, Yukhei," Mark hums sleepily, a hand coming up to caress Yukhei's neck. "I'm okay."

"Only a little more and I could have—you could have—"

"I'm okay. I'm fine." Mark tries for a smile. "Just a little tired."

Yukhei presses another kiss to Mark's forehead. "Okay. Okay," he exhales. "I'll let you sleep."

"Together?" Mark asks hopefully. Yukhei nods, sliding under the covers beside him. He tucks Mark's head under his chin, bodies pressed close, a position they’ve found themselves in countless times. Faintly, he can hear Yukhei's heart beating. It's a wonder, Mark thinks. How his heart beats even though he's dead.

"Would you have left me eventually?" Mark asks, voice quiet. "If I didn't find out?"

"I thought of it," Yukhei admits, pulling away from Mark to look him in the eye. "I always left, in the past. When I could no longer be around the people I loved, should they discover what I really am." Yukhei tenderly strokes his cheek. "But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I could never bear the thought of leaving you."

"Good," Mark whispers in reply, eyelids falling closed. "Because I'm not going anywhere, too. I'll be right here next to you. Always."

“As will I.”

It’s so peaceful and quiet. Yukhei is warm against him, another mystery he won't be able to solve; the sound of his breathing is calming, a sound he's fallen asleep to so many times before. And the temptation is there—Yukhei's arms around him, the smell of him, the _feel_ of him. Mark feels his body growing slack, unable to resist the comfort and security of being in Yukhei's embrace once again. He takes one steady breath, and another, until he falls into a rhythm.

"Oh, and Mark?"

"Hm?" 

"I love you, too."

It's the last thing he hears before everything fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> happy early halloween 🦇
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/1999LlNE) • [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/yuchi)


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